


Salvatore

by Empatheia



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-03
Updated: 2006-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Empatheia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is almost as good at silence as I am.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvatore

They believe that I hate them. They are not wrong.

They wish I would love them. I do, and I hate that I do.

My body betrays me, shivering and invalid where it should have been hale and beautiful. Where is the strength that should have been mine? This was a soul born to rule, born to dominate, but all I can do is spew quivering orders from blue lips.

They fear me, and they are right to do so. When I am angry, I forget that I am weak and remember how to cause pain. My fingers in her hair felt so powerful. Her head shaking beneath my hand as she bowed to me made me ecstatic with... something nameless. And ugly.

They fear me.

Yuki especially, and I revel in the familiar twisting pleasure that that thought brings. And also in the pain that mirrors it. I love him. He is what I might have been, young and beautiful. But so weak. I remember how it felt, seeing him kneeling and subservient to my will. Why am I so ugly? He never comes to visit alone anymore. I miss hurting him. I miss his fear.

Why am I so ugly? I look inwards, at the shriveled thing that is my soul, and it sickens me. I look outwards at her, and am blinded by the light of her. She loves so purely, not requiring pain to make it sweet. She makes me sick, and I want to be her. Sometimes I even want her to love me too.

When I was a small, slimy thing growing in my mother's hateful womb, the Fates took a dislike to me. Perhaps they feared me, too. In any case, they chose as they did and I was born cursed, born already shadowed by death. It eats my heart, drinks my lifeblood, crushes me beneath its weight. How could I possibly be any different than I am, living with that?

I am hateful. I know this, it does not trouble me. I am sadistic. I am the antithesis of all that is bright and golden. I am a serpent, slithering in the dark, its only joy the rare moments when it can sink its venomous ivory into innocent flesh and corrupt it. I am disgusting. I know this. But perhaps, oh, _perhaps_ , somewhere beyond the white, shining walls of time, I can find redemption. Did I not shoulder this? I could have let myself die long since. I could have died and let the curse slither off of me to afflict some other potential angel. I didn't, and that is the only thing that may redeem me. After.

They love me, I can see it in their eyes. Their horrible, pity-filled eyes. They help me live, and tell themselves it's because they don't want the curse passed on until absolutely necessary. But I know the truth. Despite everything I 've done to them, every torment I've joyously inflicted on them, they love me. Why? Why?

I don't understand. They love me, and it makes no sense.

Hattori's kind eyes as he mixes fragrant teas for me, the sorrow in them when he hears the rattle of my brittle, dying lungs.

Shigure's gentle patronizing, the guilt he feels for not saving me. His mask is so beautiful, I could watch him lie to himself all day.

Even ethereal Yuki, whom everyone loves because they can't help it. He loves me, and hates me; fears me, and wants me. The duality of him fascinates me and I wish I could touch him, wish I could make him cry out in pain, of one kind or another.

I am watching the cherry blossoms fall and envying them.

Tohru. Why do my thoughts keep returning to her? So she 'saved' Kyou. So she brought happiness and light to the hearts of the Juunishi, we cursed ones. She is not remarkable, save in her purity. Is there _nothing_ that can break that aching sweetness of her soul? I made her kneel! I made her weep! I _hurt_ her... but still all there was in her messily tearful eyes was empathy, and the desperate wish to understand me. I do not understand her. I never will.

I accepted long ago that I was destined to live a short, agonized life, surrounded by people but always alone. I have never had a problem with that. Until today. Wretched girl! Does she even know what damage she's done? Does she understand? I doubt it. It's just the way she is.

I was _very good_ at not caring until she accidentally walked through walls that should have been solid. A few stupid words from a stupid, ugly girl, and suddenly my stupid, _stupid_ heart is awakening again. It should sleep. It would be better if it slept. There can be nothing in this wish to remember love but pain, in the end. And even for me, there is a limit to the pain I can stand before breaking.

Outside my window, night falls into blessed darkness. I hate stars. They are more beautiful than I am. Dawn comes, and I hate that too. False hope. This day, despite all the transcendent glory of its birth, will be no different, no less painful, than the thousands that came before it.

There is someone coming. Hattori? It is not teatime yet. He loves the hands of the clock far too much to betray them by changing his routine. Not Hattori, then. Kazuma, perhaps? Has he finally wrenched himself away from his beloved whelp? I suppose I should be flattered.

Not he. The girl? I do not understand. I know that Shigure wants her to stay away from me. He is right to order this. So why is she here, alone and silent? Has she come to do more damage yet? I wish I could hate her. Foolish, naïve little girl. Perhaps she too hopes to save me.

"Akito-san," she calls, soft and repulsive.

I do not answer. Her presence is unwelcome. She is not deterred by my silence. I did not really expect her to be.

"If it's all right with you, I just want to sit with you for a while. I want to..."

_Understand._ I know what it is she wants, and in a way I want it too. So instead of chasing her away, I stay silent. She will take it as permission, I know, and a moment later she pads over and kneels next to me.

Do you see the cherry blossoms falling, girl? Do you know how much I wish it was my turn to be released and flutter on the wind? Of course not, but you want to know. Fine then. Sit by me. Sit and learn, if you will.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, a long while later.

The question startles me. Of course it hurts! Pain is my existence!

"Of course it does," she answers herself, and sounds sad. I wish she wouldn't, it makes it harder to hate her. It is very difficult indeed to hate someone who sorrows for you, allows themselves to feel pain on your behalf.

"Leave me alone," I whisper, not realizing until my breath grates on the air that I've spoken aloud. I hear her start behind my vision, but she does not get up and leave.

"You are always alone, Akito-san. Won't you let me keep you company, just for a little while?"

_Always alone._ Yes, I am. That's the way I prefer it. It's easier that way.

With great effort, I pull my quaking body up so that I can look at her. She meets me halfway, completely unafraid. Incredible. "What do you want?" I already know the answer to that. I want to hear her lie. Of course, I could have told myself that I would be disappointed. But still, I hope.

"I want to understand, Akito-san," she says. Truthfully. As I'd known she would.

So we sit and watch the blossoms spiral endlessly downwards, downwards, downwards. She is almost as good at silence as I am.

I become thirsty, and stand like a tree bent double by wind, limbs dry and creaking. She stands with me, knowing it for the dismissal it is.

"Thank you," she says, but does not move. My eyes narrow at her. She looks indecisive, as though struggling with something inside herself, behind the soft barrier of her ribs. I wait, not sure why I'm waiting for _her_ , of all people.

She steps closer, then, and though I want to back away I find I can't. I know what she's going to do and there is nothing in me strong enough or dead enough to stop her.

She slips her arms, slender as mine but not so frail, around me and rests her head on my sunken chest. Her cheek is warm against my chilled skin. I cannot move. "You're not alone," she says now, and the gentle wind of her words stirs me to motion. I lift my arms, so thin and heavy, and circle her shoulders. I'm going to break, I know it. This is so dangerous. One wrong motion, one word, and I will shatter like ancient pottery and lose what beauty and grace I have left.

She does not move wrong. I don't think she's capable of it. Her arms tighten around me and I can feel the wetness of her tears, wending their silver way beneath my clothing. I was wrong. She is remarkable after all.

And then she is gone, and I am not healed, nor am I happy. To be honest, nothing much changes at all, except that everything is more painful now. But also more beautiful.

I watch the cherry blossoms fall and wait for the death I yearn for.

**X**


End file.
